


hide your fires

by hiensou



Category: Free!
Genre: + hints of another au... if u want to see it :~), Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, there's a little bit of ass eating but it's p short lmao, there's also a lot of whiskey i guess. which is always nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiensou/pseuds/hiensou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He took a moment to fully observe the man; tall — much more so than Haruka himself — with broad shoulders and muscles to match. His eyes caused some contrast in appearance, however, soft and kind like that of a dear old friend. A strange thought struck Haruka then, that the tinkling gold of the whiskey matched his impossibly green eyes like the sun did the summer grass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hide your fires

Drawn in by the unfamiliar tunes of swinging saxophones and a lulling base, Nanase Haruka apprehensively entered a pub for the first time in his life. An American pub, to be exact. The dim light and the sins disguised in classy, refined attire felt so very typical for this country he found himself in. Everything within it seemed an orange hue, with smoke and laughter rising to the ceiling. A bar in dark, polished wood stood at his left, a large man with a grey moustache behind it, rocking back and forth slowly to the rhythm of the jazz music as he wiped glass after glass. Haruka’s eyes travelled across the infinity of bottles behind the man, to the intoxicated, elderly men toasting with their drinks and roaring of laughter, cheeks flushed and eyes unfocused. Out on the wide floor there were people dancing. Couples, mostly. Men and women. All seemingly American. Haruka swallowed, feeling somewhat out of place, but suffocating his wariness to the best of his ability and walking up to the bar shaped like a crescent moon.

He sat down on one of the bar chairs that looked like big tacks with soft leather heads. Haruka cleared his throat, going through his vocabulary quickly in his head as the bartender walked up to him with a welcoming smile.

“What can I do for you, sir?” asked the bartender, and Haruka couldn’t help but find this foreign language exceptionally fascinating; a thought that struck him most every time he talked to one of the natives here, and a thought he was starting to get tired of, given the fact that his own English was rather pitiful in comparison to that of the non-Japanese he’d been surrounded by for the last two weeks.

Haruka cleared his throat and glanced to the side, realising he didn’t know many American drinks save for “beer” and “wine”, both of which he wasn’t very fond of. The men a few seats to his right were sipping something golden from low, wide glasses that looked to contain more ice than actual liquid.

The bartender caught him looking and held up a finger for Haruka to wait, before turning to his many shelves of bottles and picking out one with sharp edges and the same deeply yellow content the men to his right were lifting high into the air. The bartender raised his eyebrows and made a little hum that seemed to ask for Haruka’s approval, and so the latter nodded. The round man looked pleased, pouring him a glass and placing it gingerly on the wooden surface before him.

“Enjoy your drink, sir,” he said, bowing his head slightly. Haruka inclined his own in thanks and lifted the glass, sniffing it cautiously.

It seemed harmless enough; although, judging from the state of Haruka’s bar neighbours, it was definitely not non-alcoholic. _Well, there’s a first time for everything,_ he figured, raising the glass to his lips and swiping half of it down in one quick motion. The liquid burned the insides of his throat in a way that caught him off guard, but the after-taste was smoky and… not at all unpleasant, actually. He smacked his tongue experimentally a few times before downing the rest of his drink, enjoying it a lot more now that he was fully prepared for the assault of flavour.

In an instant, the bartender was back in front of him, bottle in hand.

“Another round, my good sir?”

Haruka glanced down at the ice cubes in his glass and up again, nodding wordlessly. The bartender released a chuckle at Haruka’s taciturnity, pouring him another half a glass.

Instead of swooping it all down in one go, Haruka held onto the glass for a while, turning on his stool to observe the room and its many guests. On the other side of the room was a big stage, from which the jazz music came. A band playing instruments Haruka had been close to completely unfamiliar with before coming here stood on the platform, and in front of them, the center of the limelight and of every man’s attention: a lady singing into a microphone. Her eyes were closed and her hips were swinging like the slow ticking of a metronome. She looked like she was really into her job.

The couples paid her no mind, but she had a rather generously sized crowd of single men (or so they’d claim) sitting or standing below the edge of the stage, watching her intently. When the song was over, they hollered and whistled and applauded her, and she humoured them by batting her long eyelashes and throwing kisses from her blood red lips. Not soon after, another song began to play, and her focus was swept up by the music once more.

Haruka took a swig of the drink.

This was nothing like Japan. And while he spent a lot of time confused or put off by the odd ways of the western world, he had to admit he’d somewhat miss its peculiar ambiance once he returned back home. His departure came closer each day, and he had now reached his final night before returning home. Therefore, Haruka had reluctantly decided to push his boundaries a bit, if it meant making this night count. He had spent his first week in America locked up in his hotel room, unable to care for the wits of the States, but he got bored eventually, and he couldn’t do his work like that. He couldn’t create art when isolated in a bedroom that felt like it belonged to someone else. He couldn’t birth brilliance from boredom. And while he hated having to reach beyond his comfort zone, even for the sake of finding inspiration, he knew that brilliance was best born from grandiose emotions. It just so happened that sometimes the emotion was unease. Fortunately, tonight, it wasn’t entirely that; he felt curious, _fascinated_... a little bold, even.

“You going to finish that?” a voice tore him from his reverie. A voice speaking entirely in Japanese. Haruka turned his head, finding a man who, yes indeed, looked to be just as foreign as himself. “You shouldn’t waste good whiskey, you know.”

Haruka looked down at his glass, realising most of his second round was still untouched. He had been so lost in thought he nearly forgot his drink. The man beside him held a glass of this so called “whiskey”as well, and raised it, offering a toast.

Haruka clacked their glasses together softly and took another swig.

The stranger beamed at him before doing the same.

“I have to tell you,” the man started after swallowing, looking completely unfazed by the burn of the liquid, “I’m so relieved to find someone Japanese, I’ve been talking so much English I feel like I might sprain my tongue.”

When Haruka simply looked at him without answering, the man seemed to panic a bit.

“You do speak Japanese, right? Otherwise I’ve just made a complete fool of…”

“I do,” Haruka assured him, and the stranger breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Oh! Good,” he offered a hand for Haruka to shake, “I’m Tachibana Makoto. It’s nice to meet you.”

“...Nanase Haruka.” He took a moment to fully observe the man; tall — much more so than Haruka himself — with broad shoulders and muscles to match. His eyes caused some contrast in appearance, however, soft and kind like that of a dear old friend. He had sandy brown hair, a little messy but not ragged-looking. Haruka swallowed thickly; all in all, he was gorgeous. His skin was lightly tan, hinting an olive complexion, making Haruka almost a little self-conscious about his own paleness. A strange thought struck him then, that the tinkling gold of the whiskey matched his impossibly green eyes like the sun did the summer grass. Suddenly, Haruka was torn between going home to paint — two minutes beside this man having evoked more inspiration in him than two whole _weeks_ on the other side of the world — and staying put for the rest of the night in the hopes of getting to know the stranger better. Oddly enough, he found himself at instant ease beside the man.

“So, what brings you here?” Tachibana smiled at him, something he hadn’t seemed to stop doing ever since he sat down beside the raven-haired man.

“Work,” he replied simply, before deciding to offer a bit more, “Or more so, the hunt for inspiration for it.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

Haruka’s thumbs rubbed at his glass. “I’m an artist.”

“Really? That sounds so interesting! I myself can barely draw a stick figure,” he laughed, swirling the ice cubes around where they rested alone, no whiskey left, “Would I have seen your work anywhere?”

Haruka’s eyes sailed across the room, the rambunctious life from before seemingly settled into a more subdued, almost calming atmosphere. The place was still bustling with music and dancing though, and crammed with smoke from the gentlemen’s cigars, which Haruka knew would stick to his clothes for a long time. “Not over here,” Haruka answered, “But back in Japan I’ve sold quite a few pieces, and made the paper once or twice.”

Tachibana motioned for the bartender to fill up both their glasses, telling him in English just about as flawed as Haruka’s that he’d pay for both of them. Haruka was just about to protest when the man spoke up, “That’s really impressive. What do you paint?”

“...A little bit of everything, I guess,” replied Haruka, accepting his refill with a bow of his head, “People, landscapes, animals. Sometimes surrealism, too, but those aren’t as popular.”

“Ah,” Tachibana clacked their glasses together with a wink, “The world’s not ready for you yet, Haruka. You’ll be a name on everyone’s lips eventually, though, I can feel it.”

Haruka bit his bottom lip trying not to let the way the drink clawed at his throat show on his face. It felt strangely intimate, having this near-stranger calling him by his first name right away, despite the Americans doing it all the time. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was Japanese that made it different, somehow.

“I would love to see some of your works sometime,” Tachibana continued, “If you’d let me.”

Haruka looked up at him as the current song faded into nothingness, only to make room for a new one. “Sure.” he answered, a tad curt. Tachibana seemed not to mind, however, practically beaming down at him. “What are _you_ doing here, then?”

“Ah, work brought me here, just like it did you. I don’t do anything as fascinating as painting though, unfortunately,” Tachibana laughed a bit to himself, the sound laced with a bitter-sweet thoughtfulness, “Just office work. It’s a big company; good pay.”

Haruka nodded. “But not a passion?” he said, turning a question into more of a statement.

Tachibana laughed once more. “Definitely not. But that’s okay. It gives me enough money to enjoy myself on the weekends, instead.”

The sound of the instruments calmed early on in the song, and bled into a gentle, soothing piano piece.

“Which you do in dim-lit bars with a bottle of whiskey, I take it?”

“Hey now, don’t make me sound so _sad_ ,” Tachibana nudged his shoulder against the other’s, and Haruka stared deep into his glass as shivers sprung across his arms and his back. Tachibana tilted his head with a mildly concerned expression. “You cold?”

 _Rather the opposite,_ Haruka thought to himself, face ablaze. “Not really.”

“Ah, too bad,” Tachibana tipped his head to the side and looked down. Haruka’s brows furrowed in confusion at the comment, and Tachibana quickly made to elaborate, tone smooth but charmingly bashful, “I was going to offer you my jacket.”

 _Wow, he’s forward,_ thought Haruka, the apples of his cheeks heating up considerably. Normally he’d be creeped out by comments like that, but the guy seemed harmless despite his large size, and there was a certain air to him that made Haruka relax despite those shameless words. As if on cue, Tachibana hid his face in his hands like a sheepish, scolded puppy.

“I’m sorry, that’s such an embarrassing thing to say!” he exclaimed, and Haruka wasn’t sure if he was playing some sort of panicky act of coyness, or was just slightly mental, “I’m usually not this creepy, I swear; I’ve had a few more glasses of whiskey than I should’ve, is all...”

The black-haired man couldn’t help but snort. This guy was... interesting. “You’d think someone who comes here every week ought to know how to hold his liquor,” he teased, though there was sincere wonder in his words that Tachibana caught, shaking his head and holding up a palm dismissively.

“No, no, not _every_ week!” The very notion sounded preposterous to him, and Haruka bit his lip trying not to laugh again, “Just… every now and then. And I _can_ hold my liquor, thank you very much.”

“I can see that much.”

“Tonight's different; I’m here with a friend. Or, _was_. He left about an hour ago. Anyway, he’s kind of a heavy drinker, and I’m weak to peer pressure.”

“Ah.” Haruka responded simply, nodding once. He swirled the slowly melting cubes in his glass in a few languid circles, making a mental note of not letting himself get too intoxicated as well. He had only been drunk a handful of times before and he couldn’t remember much of them, which he found extremely unsettling. Drinking wasn’t exactly his idea of fun, so he preferred keeping away from the drained bottles, morning-after headaches and vomit stains on carpets. From what he’d heard, Tachibana mostly did the same (if he were to choose), albeit genuinely enjoying the taste of alcohol in moderate amounts. Or maybe Haruka was just moulding an ideal image of him in his mind without having found out the details yet.

Nevertheless, Tachibana somehow managed to emit enough trustworthiness for Haruka to agree to having drinks with him. And out of kindness, he didn’t comment on the fact that they kind of already were, when Tachibana offered it. Haruka’s suspicions were then confirmed, that the man was far more experienced in the field of drinks than Haruka was. The man got him to try a bunch of new stuff he had never dared to consider before, and even managed to find a kind of _wine_ that Haruka admittedly enjoyed. They kept their consumed amounts of each bottle moderate, but Haruka still ended up dunking far more than originally planned down his throat. Fortunately, he wasn’t as dizzy and incoherent as the last time he had had a lot to drink; then again, he wasn’t a scrawny fourteen-year-old anymore. He felt more subdued, but still completely aware of his surroundings; still able to scrunch his nose at the cigar smoke creeping up on them in thick tendrils from a man with an impressive moustache at a table a few feet away, still able to appreciate the sultry jazz that worked as a nice backdrop to his and Tachibana’s conversation, still able to actually participate in that conversation with minimum difficulty. He did not, however, manage to suppress his laughter as much, but he did remember to turn his face downwards in half-hearted attempts at concealing it.

“And since he was completely occupied looking at the old man with the — _the_ umbrella,” Tachibana forced out his words, laughing so hard there were tears adorning the crinkled corners of his eyes, “he walked right into the — the side of the fountain, and _he fell in_ _!_ ”

Haruka clutched his glass tighter as his body quaked with contained laughter wanting to burst free. Putting his forehead on one of his arms resting on the bar counter, he wheezed out an, “Oh my _god_.”

Tachibana nodded at him. “I know, I know. I laughed _so hard_. I wish you could have heard his yelp…! And the man, of course, stopped to stare at us, before he seemed to recognise Rin and he walked over as if him soaking in the fountain was nothing out of the ordinary, and he handed Rin the umbrella back,” Tachibana started to calm down a bit, wiping the tears from his eyes and shaking his head, “He just. Put it in Rin’s hand. And walked away.”

Both of their bodies were rippled by another fit of laughter at the image. Haruka was rather glad he did not know this Rin person, lest the mere sight of him would be a reminder of this story and he’d end up hurting himself from laughing so hard.

Tachibana shook his head again, as if he couldn’t believe this memory was entirely legitimate. He took a swig of his whiskey — the drink they had eventually returned to and settled for — looking out over the dance floor with a calm but still highly amused smile. Haruka glanced at him, noticing his eyes looked a little tired. But then again, they were kind of naturally droopy, which was something he had detected early on that night. There was something strangely soothing about the chartreuse downturn of Tachibana’s eyes. Somehow, they almost struck Haruka as familiar, which was all but odd.

As the currently played song came to an end, the woman behind the microphone spoke a few words of gratitude, presented the title of the next song, and ended with something Haruka couldn’t quite make sense of, but which made the men in the crowd below her cheer and whistle.

“Oh! I love this song,” Tachibana mused to himself upon recognising the title announced by the singer. The applause that served as a prelude to the song drowned out whatever words came out of his mouth next, and Haruka squinted, mouthing a “what?” at him. Tachibana leaned closer, lips ghosting over the shell of Haruka’s ear and erecting goose bumps over every crook of his body.

“Would you like to dance?” Tachibana repeated, pulling back only a little to observe the other’s reaction, but still close enough to make pearls of sweat appear at Haruka’s hairline. The latter swallowed thickly, appalled, but intrigued all the same, by the man’s boldness. Did he not know what trouble he could get himself in, asking a man he’d known for no longer than an hour or so something like that? Luckily for him, Haruka wasn’t one to point and laugh, or throw his drink in condemnation, or punch him in disgust the way he’d witnessed a drunken American do another in the middle of the street, two nights ago. No, luckily for him, Haruka felt inexplicably untroubled, _familiar_. He found, however, that he couldn’t trust his voice what with the way his throat clenched up and his chest spiralled in on itself, instead nodding wordlessly at Tachibana, and shakily setting his glass down on the bar counter as the man smiled happily at him.

Haruka worried briefly how _others_ would react, though, but Tachibana seemed unfazed, and so he decided to turn a blind eye to the possible consequences of the two of them joining hands, bodies closer together than Haruka had ever been with another male before in his life (save for when hugging his father, possibly). Although, taking a quick look around, he realised that not only were there far too many couples dancing around them for Tachibana and him to catch anyone’s attention, but they also weren’t the only couple consisting of two men. Granted, the single other one Haruka could find was not close enough to share body warmth, nor was anyone’s hand on the other’s hip, like Tachibana’s was at Haruka’s. Instead, these two men were swinging erratically in front of each other, tapping their feet rhythmically against the floorboards and snapping their fingers. The flush of their faces also revealed their heavy intake of alcohol.

Tachibana’s hand slipped from his hip bone to the small of his back, pulling Haruka’s body closer to himself as if to get his attention. Haruka looked up at him, gulping at the sight of glinting, green eyes slightly crinkled as Tachibana smiled softly at him.

“I’m not a great dancer,” the brunet admitted in a slightly slurred whisper which Haruka could only hear due to the close proximity of their faces, “especially not when I’ve had this much to drink.”

“That makes two of us, then,” said Haruka, luring a sheepish breath of laughter from the other.

Then, they were moving.

Slowly, rocking from foot to foot, eyes not once breaking contact, even as Haruka managed to step Tachibana on the toes a few too many times. The taller man seemed not to notice though.

 _You’re as pretty as a picture_  
_Has anyone ever told you before?_  
_You’re the image of an angel from above_  
_And you were just meant for me to adore_

The singer’s voice was frivolous yet sensual. Haruka wasn’t looking but he could tell she was smiling as she sang, eyes surely closed, perhaps envisioning someone dear to her as the words of affection left her painted lips in perfect key.

“You… You’re not _that_ bad,” Haruka murmured, just to have something to say.

A breath of laughter escaped the other. “Well, I’m not _good_.”

“At least we haven’t fallen over yet,” Haruka shrugged, and allowed himself to smile as he managed to pull another soft laugh from Tachibana. He realised he liked the sound. A lot. But better yet was the _view_ of the brunet’s constant smile — alcohol-induced or otherwise — directed at Haruka in a peculiar way, as if they’d known each other for years rather than minutes. Haruka’s gut twisted with something that was wholly unfamiliar to him, and he wondered if he, too, had had too much to drink.

“I apologise in advance, as I am going to be a little creepy again,” whispered Tachibana, like a child telling his best friend a secret, “But you are possibly the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life.”

Haruka was suddenly _very_ thankful for the hand intertwined with his, and the other pressing low against his back, lest his knees wouldn’t have been able to hold him up for another _second_. He willed himself to avert his eyes, escapism admittedly being his modus operandi most of the time, but Tachibana’s hopeful gaze spiked with worry rendered him unable to do much but concentrate on keeping his feet in motion. He swallowed what felt like a hundred times, wishing to dislodge the lump in his throat. _It’s just the whiskey talking,_ he assured himself, and yet his pulse reverberated all the way to his fingertips and the small hairs standing on edge at the back of his neck. Its thunderous beat tuned out the music and wracked him senseless. Tachibana simply offered a sad smile, as if sure he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. Haruka wondered what his own face must have conveyed to make him think that.

“Tachibana...”

“No, no… You don’t have to say it. I know,” the man interrupted, shaking his head and slowly bringing their dancing to a halt. Haruka was overcome with an inexplicable will to cradle the brunet’s face, but instead deliberately stepped on his toes with one foot to get his full attention, and lowered his voice to a murmur that held billows of secret promises, if Tachibana was willing to read between the lines.

“...You said you wanted to come over and see my art?”

* * *

The lamp that hung from the ceiling provided a pitiful light over Haruka’s hotel room; something he’d had much trouble with whenever he tried to paint, but was gradually getting used to.

Tachibana trailed into the room, close behind him with a hand still clasped in Haruka’s since they left the pub. He looked around the room, eyes a bit groggy, before they widened at the sight of a picture hanging above Haruka’s bed.

“You made _that_?” he asked in wonderment.

Haruka couldn’t help but snort at the idea. “No, that’s Monet. It’s the hotel’s.” he walked over to the closet door to their left, opened it and flicked the light switch in the cramped little room. The lamp flickered weakly a few times before an obscure amber light filled the closet. Haruka’s clothes were neatly folded and placed on one of the shelves to their left, not taking up very much space. At least not compared to the canvases of different sizes and motives that occupied the other walls’ shelves. Some were still blank, some were half-finished, some finished failures — in Haruka’s own eyes — and some, satisfying to a variety of degrees. Haruka could hear the other man gasp behind him, and despite all the praise he had received throughout his life, Haruka’s face flushed as if it were the first time.

He quickly grabbed the ones he was the most satisfied with and backed out of the closet, turning the light off and closing the door behind him. A handful of canvases tucked beneath his left arm, Haruka walked over to the bed and scattered them over the sheets. Tachibana walked up beside him, hands clasped over his mouth as if too big a reaction would instantly shatter the other man’s works.

Haruka took a step back, allowing Tachibana to look and feel for himself as he waited humbly, hands locked behind his back and heart drumming against his ribcage.

“Haruka… these are…” the brunet began, carefully resting his fingertips over the protrusions of brush strokes, “These are… magnificent.” he finally concluded, dragging two fingers gingerly across the one that was, admittedly, Haruka’s favourite out of the ones he’d made since coming here.

“Thank you…” he scratched his cheek, unsure of what to do with his hands. The good thing about being an artist was that while he was at the other end of the compliments thrown about, he was not beneath the scrutinizing eyes of his viewers.

“I mean, I had a feeling you’d be great, but _this_ …”

“Makoto…”

“They’re absolutely breath-taking!” he turned towards the other, whose face was so exceedingly warm he swore there were actual flames of fire dancing around beneath his skin. Tachibana grinned knowingly upon seeing the embarrassed expression the man wore, and took a step closer, delicately brushing his knuckles over Haruka’s cheekbone. “Just like you.”

Haruka looked down with a forced scowl, wishing he were better at accepting such words of admiration. Then again, he had only just met this man, so it wasn’t all that weird how uncertain and awkward he made Haruka feel when he said these things. “Are you always this embarrassing?” he muttered, but contradicted his faux exasperation by leaning his head into Makoto’s touch, just slightly.

The man chuckled, his breath ghosting over Haruka’s face, the scent a mixture of different drinks. “Oh no, at least not to people I’ve only just met,” he took yet another step closer to the other, resting his free hand on Haruka’s waist and circling his thumb over the jut of his hipbone. “If I remember this tomorrow, _believe me_ , I’ll be just as red-faced as you are right now.” said Tachibana and giggled. Actually _giggled_. A strange sort of grown-man-gone-childishly-endearing giggle that Haruka had never heard the likes of ever before.

“Shut up.” Haruka turned his face away, staring intently at the paintings on the bed only to give his brain something else to concentrate on. Tachibana noticed the focused glare and turned back towards the bed slightly, before smiling back at Haruka.

“I really mean it though,” he assured, his words just a tad slurred, “I may not know much about art, but I stand by my opinion that this is of spectacular quality.”

“The ones I have back home are much better if you ask me,” Haruka shrugged a shoulder, “I've had a bit of trouble finding inspiration lately... But out of the ones I’ve made since coming here, these are my favourites.”

“I see,” Tachibana gave a light squeeze to his waist before letting go altogether and walking back up to the side of the bed, picking up one of a sailboat passing by on a river, skyscrapers tall in the background. Haruka had painted it just yesterday down by the harbour. “Then, you’ll have to show me some of your older works one day, too.”

Haruka bit his lower lip at the thought. Going back to Japan with Makoto… He wondered if the man had plans to go back anytime soon. A strange current of excitement washed over Haruka, and he couldn’t help but voice his questions. “Are you going back to Japan soon?”

Makoto nodded. “There’s nothing left for me here, anymore. The company I’m working for is letting me go before the year’s over.”

“You didn’t mention this before.”

“Well, ‘I’m about to be unemployed and forced to return to my home country’ isn’t exactly a good opening line, is it?” laughed Tachibana, looking back at a shrugging Haruka.

“I guess not,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and smoothing a hand over a painting of a little girl hoop rolling on the street in front of her house. A three days old piece. “Why are they letting you go?”

“The unemployment is growing at an absurd rate right now, as you might already know,” Tachibana put the painting down and sat beside Haruka, “And although I’ve been here for two years, I guess the few jobs that exist have to go to the prioritised: the Americans.”

“Ah,” Haruka nodded once, twiddling his thumbs. He knew very little about politics, but it’d be impossible not to notice and be affected by the depression that had recently swept over the western world. Haruka hadn’t been affected _directly_ , like Tachibana had, but there were signs of protest and pleads _everywhere_ , and no one wanted to buy his paintings, claiming they couldn’t afford to spend their money on art at the moment.

Tachibana stared at the wall before them for a while, chewing his bottom lip pensively. Then, he seemed to catch himself drifting off into thoughts and quickly offered a smile at Haruka. “But hey, it’s not so bad! I kind of miss home, actually. Plus, this means I get a chance to find something I actually _enjoy_ doing.”

Haruka nodded, uncomfortable by the suddenly solemn mood between them. He had to say, though, that he honestly agreed with Makoto’s latest statement; surely this could only be a good turn of events for him. Well, the crash itself wasn’t all that positive, but if it meant the man was forced to seek out a passion for himself, then Haruka was happy for his sake. Somehow, he seemed like the kind of person meant to do something… bigger, than this.

Bright green eyes closed for a moment, silently brought back to the present by a hand squeezing his knee soothingly. The touch of it soon disappeared though, as Haruka stood up and collected the canvases in his arms, carrying them back to the closet by the entrance.

“Hey,” Tachibana called out from where he sat, grinning even though Haruka could not see him, “You called me ‘Makoto’ earlier.”

A pause.

“Yeah?” came Haruka’s voice from the closet, but he didn’t show himself, “You called me by my first name, too, so…”

Makoto laughed. “It’s the western influence, sorry.”

He stood with a sigh, only now realising how wobbly he was when attempting to walk. Perhaps the livelier ambiance before had kept his mind off of just how tipsy he was.

He walked up to the door, watching as Haruka assorted the paintings to their temporary stay at the closet shelves. _So are we on first name basis now, then?_ he asked himself, too afraid to make the other man uncomfortable to actually voice his question.

Standing by the coat hanger and realising neither him nor Haruka ever actually took their shoes and coats off, he contemplated whether it was best he headed home. When Haruka suggested for him to come see this work, Makoto had admittedly thought he detected some kind of subtext in those cautious, almost coy words. _I suppose my excitement got the better of me,_ he thought to himself with a dismayed glance at the back of Haruka’s head, _And the alcohol, too_.

“I, um. I guess it’s time for me to head off, then. Now that I’ve seen your paintings like I wanted to.”

Haruka turned where he stood, blinking up at him a few times, a whirlwind of thoughts visible behind those azure orbs of his. He turned the light off in the tiny room and closed the door, leaning against it with a bashful nod of his head, almost like a child with demands at the tip of his tongue but too shy a demeanour to voice them. Makoto lingered deliberately in the little hall space of the hotel room, swelling with hope as he anticipated further reactions from Haruka.

“If that’s what you want,” said Haruka simply.

“...And… if it isn’t?”

Haruka’s eyes dared meet his, and his lips twisted into a cheeky, barely-there smirk that made the hairs at the back of Makoto’s neck stand on edge. All evening, Haruka had seemed to make an effort to hide his face most every time he smiled or laughed, but now it was there — granted, remaining subtle — making all kinds of silent promises.

Haruka took a few slow steps towards him, hands clasped behind him in a deceitful display of innocence. “What _do_ you want?”

Makoto cleared his throat, closing the distance between them a little more and snaking his arms around Haruka’s waist to unlock his hands from each other. He clasped them in his own and pulled Haruka flush against his body, smiling as something clenched inside his chest at having the man so near. If he tipped his head just so, their noses would be knocking together, and if he pressed into the touch but a tad, their lips would be connected.

“Would you tell me to shut up again if I said ‘you’?” mumbled the brunet, taking the risk and softly nudging the tip of his nose against Haruka’s own.

Haruka breathed out in amusement and looked down, hair tickling Makoto’s cheek. “No…” murmured Haruka, slowly peeking up at him again, “But I might _make_ you shut up.”

The next thing Makoto knew, Haruka was the one to cross that invisible threshold, capturing his lips in a firm yet vigilant kiss. Makoto inhaled deeply, his senses overcome with Haruka; his faintly fruity scent, his warm hands releasing Makoto’s to tangle in the back of the latter’s jacket, his soft, _oh_ , so _unbelievably_ soft lips… Makoto drank it all up, feeling more intoxicated now than bottles of whiskey had ever made him.

He moaned weakly into the kiss, cupping the other man’s face in his hands and leading him back towards the bed.

A small whine escaped Haruka as he tugged a little harder at Makoto’s coat. The man seemed to get the hint, stopping to shrug it off of himself without breaking contact with Haruka’s lips. He then made to remove Haruka’s as well, at which they both realised their feet were still fully clothed too, and were forced to stop the kiss and bend down to untie and kick off their shoes, all the while doing a bad job restraining their laughter like a pair of nervous teens. Makoto recaptured Haruka’s smile with his own, stifling the breaths of amusement on the other’s lips and spilling their voices into one another. He locked his arms around Haruka’s waist, and the latter melted into his embrace, a shiver shooting along his spine at the way Makoto’s taller, broader frame could just envelope him entirely.

Makoto lowered him onto the mattress, mapping out every inch of Haruka’s lips and tongue. He caught the man’s bottom lip in between his teeth, sucking fondly as high-pitched moans fell from Haruka and his spine went rigid like a tautly tuned guitar string. His hips made a little jerk as Makoto released his lip and dove against the jut of his jawline instead, nibbling his way across Haruka’s milky skin.

“Makoto…” he breathed out, combing his fingers through said man’s brown locks and gripping them just a little too tight, eliciting a low grunt from Makoto. As if to make up for his roughness, Haruka bucked his hips, lining up with Makoto’s own and rubbing their clothed lengths together. Another sound left Makoto — this one a lot more compliant — and he rutted back, acting on first impulse. Haruka’s hands left his hair and grabbed at his hips, rocking their growing erections against each other over and over and _over_ again. For a moment, it felt so good, so simplistic, that he nearly contemplated just getting them off like that, but he was sure they could reach much higher levels of pleasure if he chose to be patient instead.

Makoto had stopped kissing him at some point, ragged breaths hot against the crook of Haruka’s neck. He let out a small whine when the man beneath him ceased his movements, but understood Haruka’s reasoning as he lifted his head to look him in the eyes.

He responded with a glint of mischief of his own, reaching a hand down to cup at the other’s crotch with his long fingers. He swayed a little, with only one arm against the mattress to support him, but regained balance despite his slight drunkenness as he concentrated on the surprised expression on Haruka’s face that quickly gave way for one of unhindered pleasure. Makoto found it absolutely delicious, the way he let his mouth fall open with his tongue pressing against his bottom lip a little, as if threatening to peek out altogether, and his eyebrows pinched together over half-lidded eyes and dusty red cheeks. At that moment he wanted more than anything to see Haruka’s features twist and relax in climax; to know the way his body tensed, twitched and slackened again. With that in mind, his palm massaged against the fabric of Haruka’s trousers as Makoto leaned in to decorate the base of his throat with open-mouthed kisses sure to leave a bruise or two for tomorrow. He felt the motion of Haruka swallowing against his lips, and the low vibration as a broken moan escaped him.

“Take them _off_ ,” Haruka demanded, “Yours too. Just…” he tugged at the hem of Makoto’s pants, hips rising and falling in jerky motions beneath the touch of the brunet’s hand. The friction disappeared as Makoto sat up to do as ordered, slipping out of his pants and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a well-toned body underneath. _Well_ , Haruka couldn’t say he hadn’t expected it, what with how broad his shoulders were and how exquisitely firm his chest had felt, lightly pressed against Haruka’s own as they danced… but still. He swallowed, only now noticing how dry his mouth was. He couldn’t say what had done it; the wine, the whiskey, the muscles beneath olive skin before him…

Haruka bit his bottom lip, arching his back in a feline manner as he reached out his hand and slid a finger underneath the waistline of Makoto’s underpants. “What about these?” asked Haruka, astonished by the seductiveness of his own voice, wholly unfamiliar to him.

Makoto chuckled lowly, leaning over him with observant eyes before pecking Haruka’s forehead with an out-of-place sweetness. “Sure,” he complied, voice bordering on a suggestive growl, “but then it’s your turn.”

Haruka nodded, a faint taste of iron in his mouth reminding him that he was still biting his lip. Rather hard, it seemed. Ideally, Makoto would be the one to do that to him, though.

The brunet sat up on his knees again, hooking his thumbs in his waistline and pulling down unceremoniously. This time, Haruka trapped both of his lips in between his teeth, the warmth of his face increasing tenfold and spreading to his ears and his neck.

Makoto was now completely naked, and despite the boldness of his tipsy self, even he looked a little embarrassed, face scarlet and eyes faltering. Haruka sat up, winding his arms around the other’s waist and pulling him down in his lap. He kissed both corners of Makoto’s mouth, his bottom lip, his upper lip, before nudging them apart with the tip of his tongue and capturing them in a deep kiss. Makoto’s hands trailed their way up Haruka’s sides to rake through his hair. Haruka found out that — apparently — he really, _really_ liked having his hair played with. His body and mind immediately relaxed at the delicate touch.

Makoto’s fingers soon left his dark locks to pluck at the buttons of his shirt, eventually exposing Haruka’s chest and abdomen. He brushed the garment off of Haruka’s shoulders, and the latter pulled his arms back to let it slide off completely and be tossed to the floor.

Makoto crawled back on the bed a bit, impatiently undressing the rest of Haruka, who tried his best to suffocate his sudden self-consciousness. He was usually rather indifferent when it came to nakedness, but this was on an entirely different wavelength than that of stripping to get in a body of water. This time, the goal of undressing was his _body_ , and not his body’s destination. However, despite him feeling a little flustered, Haruka had to admit it was a thrilling concept.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.

But something felt different. Like a cog had shifted. Like the air was altered.

The alcohol didn’t numb his thoughts as he might have hoped, though he did feel a little like he was floating.

“You’re _beautiful_ ,” Makoto suddenly uttered, voice light and sweet, and eyes glued to Haruka’s skin like they had been to his paintings just a short while ago, almost as if Makoto was looking for that sailboat again, illustrated on Haruka in birth marks like a game of connect-the-dots. He dragged his fingertips over the skin of Haruka’s chest and stomach gingerly, as if hesitant to whether or not he was actually allowed to.

Haruka squirmed a bit underneath the attention, before reaching up to brush a rogue piece of hair behind Makoto’s ear. A shy, unsaid ‘ _so are you_ ’.

The brunet lowered his head to kiss at the middle of Haruka’s chest, feather-light graces of his lips treading their way down to his navel, before taking a left towards the expanse of Haruka’s thigh. He made sure to nibble a little with his teeth on the sensitive skin there, and Haruka sucked in a breath, grabbing the sheets with both hands as if to brace himself.

Makoto spent some time alternating between biting down gently and pecking almost apologetically at the insides of Haruka’s thighs, and the latter learnt that it was something he liked even better than the hair-touching. He was fully hard now, dripping in arousal. Makoto sat up again, taking Haruka’s leg with him and placing it on his shoulder. He smirked down at the other, that forwardness surfacing once more, as he continued the trail with his lips all the way from the milky white of Haruka’s thigh to the side of his knee and calf. Makoto rested his cheek against his ankle, a low hum escaping his throat before he spoke, voice a little hoarse from the late hour’s lingering sleepiness that they both skilfully ignored, and the fading aftertaste of whiskey. “I wish I could just drink you up.”

Haruka was ready to turn an even brighter shade of red, before deciding that two could play this game. “I think you’ve had enough to drink already.”

“Oh? So you’re saying you don’t want me to swallow you whole?”

“What…? _Ah-!_ ”

Haruka didn’t get much of a chance to answer to that, Makoto quite literally swallowing him up, and it was all Haruka could do not to cry out at the top of his lungs as a tongue dragged up along his shaft, before the man took him in almost completely.

 _He must have done this before,_ Haruka thought, and a strange feeling of dismay overcame him; something almost akin to jealousy, but he brushed it off, his focus easily transferred to the pleasure Makoto so skilfully evoked in him. He tangled his fingers in Makoto’s hair, again pulling with a little too much force, but it was worth it with the way Makoto hummed (disapprovingly, but still) around his erection. The vibrations set off sparks before his eyes, like an indistinct cluster of stars exploding inside his small hotel room. No lights came raining down on them, though, and no black hole ate them up, so Haruka simply clamped his lips shut and let a dragged-out whine escape him, wishing Makoto would touch him more, all over, granting him never-ending waves of pleasure.

“D-Don’t stop,” he breathed out, hands trembling as he released his hold of Makoto’s hair a bit more, “don’t stop, don’t stop, _don’t stop_ …”

Makoto let one hand hold him at the base, fingers moving up and down in sync with his mouth, while the other caressed Haruka’s thigh, his hip, his waist, his chest.

Haruka came with his mouth ajar and his breath momentarily stopped. All his muscles tensed, the only sound leaving him being a shuddering exhale and a small mewl as the other man tipped him over the edge. Makoto then sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling down at Haruka — again with a fondness that starkly contrasted the rest of him.

Makoto crawled back up to snuggle up against the other man, his face hidden against his neck. Haruka wrapped his arms around him, struggling to slow his breath down to normal, when Makoto slowly, almost cautiously rutted against him.

“ _Mmm–_!” Haruka’s hips jerked forward instinctively, only further increasing the overstimulation running through his body like sweet poison in his veins.

“Not done yet,” Makoto uttered against his skin, sounding apologetic but desperate both in the same breath.

“I know,” came Haruka’s simple reply; as much as he could imagine going to sleep with Makoto’s arms enveloping him, now that he had peaked and returned to earth, he was way more curious to see Makoto do the same before either of them even considered drifting off into a sobering slumber. “Just give me a minute…”

Makoto’s careful, rhythmic movements came to a halt and he raised his head to meet the other in a tender kiss. Haruka’s hands cupped his face, noting how warm it was. He opened an eye to peek at the flush of Makoto’s cheeks, drunkenness and passionate eagerness mixing together in a hot, jumbled mess. Pulling away from Makoto’s kiss-swollen lips, Haruka placed soothing pecks on each cheek, worryingly willing them to cool down.

Makoto closed his eyes and smiled, before clearing his throat, obviously a little shy about his next question. “Do you have any, um... “

Haruka stared at him patiently. Makoto seemed to be having some trouble meeting _his_ eyes, though.

“You know… lubrication?”

“Oh.” said Haruka, face showing no sign of embarrassment. He thought for a while, before letting his hands slide from Makoto’s face to his shoulders, a thumb absent-mindedly caressing the protrusion of his collarbone in a circular motion. “I have lotion in the bathroom?”

Makoto smiled again, nodding and reluctantly planting another kiss on Haruka’s lips before sitting back to let Haruka retrieve the lotion from the other room.

“Be right back,” the man swung his legs off the bed, but found his knees unreliable as they shook when he stood up. He swayed to the side a bit when he took his first step, and heard Makoto laugh quietly into his fist from where he sat on the bed. Haruka shot him a cross glare over his shoulder, embarrassment only now kicking in at the evidence of how giddy the other had made him.

Once in the bathroom, he quickly fetched the bottle of lotion from one of the cabinets, but didn’t walk back out straight away. Haruka looked himself in the mirror, letting out a deep exhale. He then splashed some cold water on his face, wishing he could wash the sudden nervousness off of him. He was familiar with the concept of what they were about to do, had heard it whispered about, read about it, even seen a flash of it at one point, by accident. But he had never actually done it.

Had Makoto? He seemed confident enough. But did he not think it sinful, even for a second? Haruka didn’t care for the sexual morality that society tried to stuff down his throat; what felt good felt good. What Makoto and he had done so far made his head spin in a way he knew he could never grow tired of, and there couldn’t possibly be anything wicked about that. There couldn’t possibly be anything wicked about Makoto.

Haruka figured that, what with the alcohol they had poured down their bodies earlier that evening, perhaps neither of them were sensible enough to cast grand judgement on anything, but he still felt positive in that Makoto’s fingers ghosting across his skin, or grabbing him firmly; Makoto’s lips capturing his own in searing kisses; Makoto’s voice carrying through the room in hushed words of adoration, or simply exclamations of pleasure; all that could only be glimpses of heaven.

Makoto walked into the bathroom quietly, coming up behind Haruka and snaking his arms around the latter’s waist.

He rested his chin on Haruka’s shoulder, eyes closed, hair tickling Haruka’s temple a little bit.

Whatever his mother, his father, the military authority grasping a hold of their home country, or the emperor himself tried to tell him about hell, Haruka knew it was the opposite of their words: a place devoid of this warmth enveloping him.

“What’s taking you?” Makoto tilted his head down to kiss and nip at Haruka’s shoulder and neck, tingling waves spreading across the latter’s skin.

“Mm…” Haruka murmured, eyes cast on the bottle in between his hands, “I was just about to come back in...” Makoto made a quiet sound of understanding, but did not release his hold nor cease the attention aimed at Haruka’s neck. This certainly didn’t help Haruka’s wobbly legs at all. “You’re so impatient.”

“Sorry,” Makoto laughed quietly against his shoulder, “You’ve got me a little worked up here.”

A hand wandered down Haruka’s side, gracing the ticklish skin on his lower belly and making him squirm a bit, before reaching his thigh. Again. Makoto caressed a pattern up and down Haruka’s hip and thigh, squeezing a bit when he neared Haruka’s behind.

Hushed, curious “ah”s and “oh”s escaped the raven-haired man as he simply clutched the bottle harder in between his hands, and let his head fall back against Makoto’s shoulder. One of the latter’s arms was still securely around Haruka’s abdomen as the other explored his body. He felt his erection progressively return at Makoto lavishing feather-light caresses and bold grasps.

The kisses on the back of his neck trailed lower, following his spine like a compass leading the way south, until a voice ghosted over the skin right above his buttocks. “Could you lean forward?”

He could practically _hear_ the flush of Makoto’s cheeks through his words, and his own face inevitably heated as well. Yet, he did as he was asked and took a step back, shyly planted his feet a bit further from each other, and leaned over the sink.

“Just relax. Don’t tense up.”

Haruka swallowed hard, nervousness making him a little light-headed again. Makoto’s hands kneaded the back of his thighs almost soothingly, before trailing upwards and spreading his cheeks, tongue experimentally probing at Haruka’s entrance.

The feeling was unfamiliar, but Haruka simply bit his lips and repeated “relax, relax, _relax_ ,” like a mantra in his head. Eventually, the intruding sensation bled into that of curious pleasure, and Makoto grew more bold, reaching his tongue as far as he could and flicking it, cutting Haruka’s breath short. The warmth soon left him, though, and Haruka let out a small whine of loss. He could hear a chuckle from behind him, but ignored the will to glare at the brunet kneeling on the floor.

Haruka could hear the cap of the bottle pop open and wondered when exactly Makoto had taken the lotion from his hands. He had been too gone to notice, it seemed, and Haruka felt somewhat abashed at the thought.

He jerked forward a little as the cold liquid coated his hole, and Makoto hurried to apologise. “Sorry! It will get warmer soon,” he assured, and Haruka pouted at the grin in his voice.

A finger entered him then, reaching much further than Makoto’s tongue had. The feeling was both peculiarly different and blissfully similar. Haruka pushed back against it keenly, wanting _more_ of _everything_. He couldn’t bear being patient; being _teased_.

Makoto seemed concentrated on not hurting him in any way, taking it far too slow than Haruka would have liked. But eventually there were two fingers within him, and three, pushing in and out with lotion dripping to the floor with each thrust. Broken moans, high in pitch, fell from Haruka’s mouth against the cold of the faintly yellow sink he leaned his cheek against. The solid china material was uncomfortable to rest against, but the bliss shooting through his body, pooling in his gut, rushing his blood south, made it bearable.

Makoto began parting his fingers inside Haruka in a scissoring motion, and the latter gasped at the sparks that rolled through his body. Makoto pushed in further, knuckles pressed against Haruka’s entrance, and bent his fingers experimentally. At one particular twist of his digits, Haruka had to cry out forcefully at the dizzying sensation, hips rocking back in a silent plea for Makoto to do it again.

The brunet smirked and leaned in to place a kiss against the small of Haruka’s back. “Liked that, did you?”

Makoto curved his fingers inwards, brushing harshly against the spot again. The black-haired man released a stuttering mewl which Makoto guessed was supposed to be his name. He bent his fingers again, and again, thrusting them in and out simultaneously, marvelling at the sounds Haruka made, like a chaotic little song meant just for him.

“Ma… Ah… _Makoto_ ,” he called like a demand, and Makoto nodded to himself before retreating his fingers, slick balm trickling down the back of Haruka’s thighs. Makoto drunkenly wished he could frame the image like he could the artist’s exquisite paintings.

Irregular huffs of breath and whines fell from Haruka’s lips and mingled together, and Makoto thought it wrong for those noises to deck the concave of the sink rather than his light tan, sweat-soaked skin.

Haruka grabbed the edge of the sink and straightened his stand, hair in a disarray, face flushed brightly with a small string of saliva at the corner of his mouth. Makoto swallowed thickly, the scene so indecently picturesque he nearly toppled over right then and there. Haruka seemed to become self-aware just then, brow wrinkling and knuckle coming up to wipe at his mouth. Makoto offered a smile and leaned in to kiss him deeply.

“Well, I’ve never done _that_ before,” muttered Haruka as he pulled back just an inch. He peeked up at Makoto through his lashes, glance almost accusatory.

“Was it okay?” asked the brunet, “It didn’t hurt or anything?”

Haruka shook his head. “No, I, um… I liked it…”

Makoto thought he ought to have known, judging by the sounds the other had made. “I’m glad,” he smiled at Haruka, capturing his lips again and leading him back towards the bedroom. Once inside, they tipped onto the bed, all ragged breaths and stifled laughs. Makoto positioned himself in between the other’s legs, lips traipsing down the side of his throat to don him in several more of those harmless bruises. Haruka’s keen little noises egged him on, and he rutted his erection against the other’s teasingly, all the while letting his tongue pay some extra attention to one of Haruka’s nipples.

“ _Hey_ ,” he reprimanded, voice a bit hoarse. Makoto smirked against his chest, but abided nonetheless.

The bottle of lotion had fallen beside them on the mattress, so Makoto picked it up and squeezed a generous amount into his palm. He coated his shaft with the liquid, the simple knowledge of Haruka’s eyes glued to his actions giving him twice the pleasure his own hand did. He probed with a finger against Haruka’s entrance a bit more, adding more lubrication for good measure (and maybe, kind of, sort of because seeing Haruka’s eyelids close halfway, his throat clenching as he swallowed thickly, and his spine tense like a flagpole did _things_ to Makoto…)

“This might feel a bit weird at first,” Makoto murmured, lining himself up, “It might… hurt, a little.”

“I know,” came Haruka’s curt reply.

“You’ve done it before?”

“...No.”

Makoto smiled at him. “That’s okay,” he reached a hand towards Haruka’s face, cupping his cheek gingerly. It was hot like the sun. “I’ll be really, really careful, okay? And if it’s something you don’t like, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Haruka nodded hesitantly. Words of condemnation and perversion still rung at the back of his head, but his wanton overpowered the scornful voices. He still didn’t think himself the person most suited to judge Makoto’s character, but if the people who’d swear at him, hurt him and send him away could have glimpsed what Haruka had of this man, they’d surely think hell unworthy of him, too.

He felt Makoto’s length begin to press into him and he tensed, just the way he knew he shouldn’t. Squirming beneath the taller man as he paused, Haruka began to worry he was ruining it all by thinking so much. Usually, he was more than capable at locking his whirlwind of thoughts away when needed, but somehow he couldn’t quite silence them now. He couldn’t stack them away for later. And Makoto seemed to notice something was wrong.

“Haruka, are you… Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Haruka grasped at the other man’s hips. “Idiot, you barely entered me yet.”

Makoto swayed a little, still slightly unstable from the drinking, but seemingly fully capable of rational thought. He furrowed his brows at the man below him. “You looked bothered, though.”

“I’m — I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Makoto leaned over him, taking up most of Haruka’s sight, “I don’t want to do this unless you do too, Haruka.”

Said man frowned up at him, before averting his eyes elsewhere. “...Haru.”

“What?”

“...If we’re going to do this… Call me ‘Haru’; I don’t like my full name.”

“...Oh.” Makoto blinked at him, before offering another one of his sunshine smiles and dipping down to kiss him again. He took Haruka’s bottom lip in between his own, sucking almost hungrily. Haruka kissed back in earnest, locking his legs around Makoto’s waist to pull him in closer. When they parted again, he sighed against the other’s mouth and whispered,

“I _want_ to.” He draped his arms around Makoto’s neck, breaths and warmth mingling together in between them, “I just… I can’t stop _thinking_...”

Makoto looked as if he understood completely. And, for all Haruka knew, maybe he did.

“Help me with that?” murmured Haruka, nipping delicately at Makoto’s jawline, “Help me turn it off.”

Makoto drew in a short breath, reaching down to position himself again without causing any hindrance to Haruka’s work on his throat. He nodded slightly, and gripped Haruka’s side as his other hand led him inside.

Haruka closed his eyes and put his lips in between his teeth, concentrating on not tensing up. Makoto pushed a little farther before pausing for a moment to kiss Haruka’s forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips, his neck… As if to calm him, to assure him, he lavished Haruka in sweet caresses and gentle kisses. His breath still smelled like whiskey, but then again, Haruka was pretty sure his did as well.

“You alright?” breathed Makoto, and Haruka nodded against the crook of his neck. With a final peck to his temple, Makoto slid in some more, stopping once he was fully inside.

It was strange, but not entirely uncomfortable, this feeling of being filled. Haruka wound his trembling legs around Makoto’s back a little tighter, sucking in a breath as the latter reached a hand to Haruka’s dripping erection, hand curling around it and giving a few tugs.

Haruka quivered at the touch, allowing moans to spill from his lips against Makoto’s damp skin. After a while, Makoto started to pull out slowly, before pushing back in again, still moving his hand up and down Haruka’s cock, languidly but firmly.

Haruka’s breathing was heavy, but he kept his moans in in order to listen to Makoto’s. The faster his thrusts became, the more groans and drawn-out cries escaped him. Haruka learnt quickly that he did not hold back with his voice, but Haruka couldn’t say he minded very much.

Eventually, his grasp of Haruka’s shaft released and he took a hold of his waist, Makoto’s hips slamming against him with more force.

“ _Ah_ , Makoto,” he hissed out, forehead falling back against the pillow and arms snaking more securely around the other man. Makoto breathed his name over and over again, like a repetitive plea for more. Hearing Makoto’s begs of “Haru, _Haru_ , oh _god_ , Haru–!” sent shivers across Haruka’s body, and as Makoto held him a bit tighter, Haruka’s cock rubbed in between their abdomens. A moan left Haruka’s own throat and he clenched around Makoto.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” swore the brunet, and it was so impossibly uncharacteristic and arousing at the same time, somehow, that Haruka couldn’t help but purposely squeeze around him again, if it meant more profanities tumbling out of Makoto to befoul them even further. “Don’t do that, I’m gonna–”

“Let yourself,” Haruka interrupted, “I want to see it.”

“Ah– Haru…”

“ _Taint me_ ,” he breathed heavily, hands tangling in Makoto’s olive-brown locks. Makoto met his eyes; blue as ever, but glistening, with a wrinkled brow above them, which he hadn’t much time to contemplate before Haruka pulled him into a burning kiss. His skin felt so hot it could scorch Makoto’s own, leaving permanent scars the origin of which he could never repress.

He gasped against Haruka’s mouth as the latter clenched around him again, tipping Makoto over his breaking point, from which he came down trembling, stars behind his eyes as he shut them close. He rode out his orgasm, thrusts becoming more shallow and twitchy. Lips still against Haruka’s own, Makoto grasped around the latter’s cock and a few slow jerks with his hand had Haruka whimpering into the kiss as well. But even as they came down from their high, regained their breaths, and began to fully acknowledge how hot the air in the room was, Haruka seemed intent on keeping Makoto in his embrace.

The brunet rested his head against Haruka’s chest, still a little out of breath. He felt the steady pulsating of Haruka's heart against his cheek and listened to the rhythm of it fade back to normal, before murmuring, “We should clean ourselves up.”

Haruka did not reply.

Makoto raised his head from where he lay, wondering if perhaps the man had drifted off into sleep right away. Haruka’s eyes were open though, cast towards the window with a pensive quality to them.

“Hey,” Makoto tried again, and Haruka’s eyes slowly came to rest at him. Makoto offered what he hoped to be a comforting smile, though he was not sure exactly what the man was in need of comfort for. “You don’t wanna fall asleep all sticky, trust me.” He breathed a laugh.

Haruka stared at him for a moment, looking almost guilty. _He hasn’t done anything though_ , Makoto thought, but had no time to elaborate on that before the man slid out from underneath him and made his swaying way towards the bathroom. He shut the door behind himself, leaving Makoto with billows of questions washing over him like an ice cold shower.

He stood up to open the window, only now fully registering how stuffy it was in there. Just as he had managed to pop the thing open, Haruka emerged from the bathroom again, a roll of paper in his hands that he tossed to Makoto.

The brunet only barely caught it, mumbling a “thank you” before trudging into the bathroom himself. He wiped himself clean, threw the paper away and washed his hands before emerging into the bedroom where Haruka was curled up beneath the covers, turned away from Makoto. Now _he_ was the one to feel guilty, but yet again found himself unaware of the reason.

He quietly walked up to the pile of clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor beside the bed, wobbling on his feet as he tried to step into his underwear. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure whether it was best to stay or leave. He had taken for granted earlier that he’d at least stay until sunrise, slipping out before or after… But now he was beginning to think that maybe Haruka didn’t want him there anymore, for even a second.

Had Makoto been fully sober, and not as tired as he currently found himself, he might have gone ahead and asked Haruka about it. But as it were, he ended up slipping underneath the covers beside Haruka, his eyelids as heavy as lead the moment his head hit the pillow. Haruka seemed to curl into himself, but made no move to get Makoto out of there or crawl farther away from him on the mattress. Deciding to test his luck, and perhaps satiate his curiosity, Makoto nudged himself closer and tenderly placed his hand against one of Haruka’s shoulder blades.

The man flinched a little, but stayed where he was.

“Haru?” came Makoto’s hushed, slightly husky voice. It took Haruka a few beats to answer.

“Yeah.”

And a few more for Makoto to think of what he wanted to ask. “Is… Is it alright if I stay?”

“...If that’s what you want.”

Makoto smiled, wondering if Haruka’s words had been an intentional reference to earlier. “That _is_ what I want.”

A few minutes passed, and the brunet was just about to finally drift off when Haruka turned around, stirring him from his half-sleep. He groggily opened his eyes, met with the piercing blue of Haruka’s.

“Don’t you…” Haruka began, but trailed off. His eyes cast low, apprehensive of his words. Makoto’s hand found his over the sheets, holding onto it loosely. His thumb caressed a circular pattern over Haruka’s knuckles, and suddenly, he looked as if the blue of his orbs would pour out like sapphire oceans. One drop at a time, until an entire sea separated them.

Then, Makoto recalled something. “Haru…”

Haruka didn’t look up at him, but swallowed visibly.

“...What did you mean earlier, when you said…” he hesitated, scooching closer and lowering his voice, as if afraid he’d break Haruka in two, were he to handle him with anything but utmost care. “When you said ‘taint me’?”

Haruka squeezed his hand so tautly it almost hurt, but Makoto didn’t bat an eyelash, waiting patiently for his response.

“This doesn’t seem to bother you at all,” Haruka whispered, the words difficult to force out, but too frightening to keep inside him, “This… _This_. You don’t seem to think twice about it.”

They were frightening because if Haruka kept them inside him, he kept them vivid in his mind. He’d have to keep thinking about this, acknowledging it. Which, up until now, hadn’t been a problem. But then, up until now, he hadn’t really gone this far with a man. The words slapped in his face years ago hadn’t ever resonated with such force before.

“I’m not sure I understand…”

Haruka took a deep breath. “Aren’t you scared? Of hell? Of what will happen to us after what we’ve done?”

Makoto stared at him as if he had just had his death sentence declared. His mouth hung ajar, his muscles tensed, before some sort of understanding seemed to settle within him and he brought Haruka’s hand to his mouth, planting a chaste kiss on the back of it. “No, why would I be? Only sinners are punished, not lovers.”

“Lovers?” Haruka echoed, cheeks flaring at the taste of the word.

Makoto smiled at him, a sleepy, still tipsy, but somehow so wisely assuring smile. Haruka couldn't help but wonder where he'd seen that smile before. And although the clock on the night-stand displayed half past two in the morning, with that bright gleam in Makoto’s eyes directed at him, there could’ve just as well been a sun peeking in through the curtains.

“It’s not like I haven’t heard the way people talk, but I don’t believe them for a second. I try my best to be a good person,” he blinked slowly, reaching his free hand out to brush some hair from Haruka’s face, “And I’m sure you do as well. I think that’s all that matters. My conscience is clear, and no less so from being with you for a night. Or two. Or twenty lifetimes. That’s not what we’re judged by.”

Haruka didn’t know whom to be incredulous towards. It made sense, but as much as he had fought the shackles put on his morals, they were hard to shed completely.

He wanted to do what he was best at: simply shut down, push these worries aside, _escape_ them for as long as possible. But one last thing still resounded relentlessly inside his head, and he decided to ask about it before the sleep got its hands on either one of them.

“Makoto…”

“Mm?” hummed the brunet, eyes closed and tousled hair lying over his pillow.

“... Do you also have this feeling, like we know each other since before?”

A minute passed. Then two. Haruka thought for sure that Makoto had fallen asleep at last, but then he opened his eyes and looked at Haruka intently, as if trying to make sense of his words. Haruka stared back silently, something stirring within him when Makoto’s eyes finally softened, and he nodded his head just slightly.

“I do,” he said, “I’m _certain_ I have not met you before, but I still… feel like I’ve known you for a really long time.”

Haruka examined the man before him; eyes green as a meadow, hair as the sand by an ocean’s shore, body a strong built like that of a soldier or a firefighter, but heart too tender for either. He had to agree; surely he would have remembered Makoto if they were to have met before. When would that have been, anyway? Haruka had only been in the country for about two weeks, and they probably hadn’t lived in the same part of Japan as kids, either.

Perhaps they were both just inconceivably drunk and sleep-deprived. Although, Haruka felt a lot less light-headed than he had a few hours ago.

Stashing the enigma of the man before him away for his future self to figure out, Haruka turned around and pulled Makoto’s arm around his waist, lining their bodies up.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” he asked quietly, abashed of his half-hearted attempt at hiding what he hoped the answer to be.

The slow puffs of air as Makoto breathed into his hair from behind lulled Haruka closer and closer to unconsciousness, and the warmth as Makoto held him close was invaluably comforting.

“If that’s what you want.” came the quiet reply from behind him.

Haruka smiled to himself, a gentle breeze sweeping through the room from outside the window that neither of them had thought to close again before going to sleep. And just before Haruka allowed himself to fall into slumber completely, he breathed out his mandatory reply in a whisper so low he doubted Makoto would be able to hear it. “That _is_ what I want.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> because i'm absolutely crazy about historical au's of all kinds, because early 1900's jazz is quickly becoming a huge obsession of mine, and lastly, because i've wanted to write drunk makoto for quite a while now. my hc is that he's still coherent, still pretty sensible, but doesn't hold himself back as much. thus, the (almost entirely) shameless flirting.
> 
> the title is from the Macbeth quote " _Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires._ " by William Shakespeare (and yes, i'm fully aware that Macbeth's "black and deep desires" are of murder and not gay sex but i just really like this quote). also, the song they dance to is "You're As Pretty As A Picture" which has been sung by many different people, but I personally prefer this version: http://youtu.be/G7W05TjxLxg 
> 
> huge thanks to shinx & liz for beta'ing (^^)v


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